


Break Your Plans

by hawkeblocke



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Annie is really blunt, I don't know how to do tags, M/M, Marco is a really good cook, Modern AU: Diner, POV First Person, POV Marco Bott, Sexual Content, So is Bert, Wow okay that didn't take long I'm sorry, food stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeblocke/pseuds/hawkeblocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uh…" I know that voice, it hits me like a ton of bricks, so hard it sinks into my gut and roots my feet to the ground. "Just someone that I knew."</p><p>--<br/>In which Jean leaves for a year to deal with some shit and Marco doesn't know what to do with himself if it doesn't involve being sad. Additional tags will be added per each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hookay.  
> Um.
> 
> First SnK fic!  
> I don't know I've been sitting on this idea for a while and have been writing it ever since and I feel like I had a lot more to say than I do now I just hope you guys receive it well *hides face and runs away*

"Don't go,"

I'm still pretty much in a state of sleepy confusion, my brain feels a little groggy and the words feel a little funny on my tongue, but I'm missing his warmth now that he's not in my bed. My eyes are still closed when I reach out to stop him, but by some miracle I grasp at his hand loosely and it's enough to stop him.

I'm still sleepy, I'm sort of drifting but somehow I still have the frame of mind to know that he's not with me and the bed already feels a little colder without him. "'M cold," I state as much with a tired little yawn.

I feel the body attached to the hand I'm holding move a fraction closer and I sink back into the covers, but my eyes blink open almost involuntarily when I realize he isn't making any moves to rejoin me. He looks a little defeated, and definitely more than a little guilty, both definitely red flags had I been awake enough to take them in. I'm more concerned with the way his face looks when it's illuminated by the street lamp outside my window. Gorgeous.

He worries at his bottom lip, and I can't help the way my eyes watch as he sucks it in between his teeth. He's not looking at me, but he's still holding my hand so I give it a little encouraging tug. The way his eyes snap in my direction and he stiffens when I do that finally gets my attention.

The shadows hit his face just right to make it look like the furrow in his brow is deeper than it maybe actually is. There's a slight frown as he looks down and (to my regret) away from me again. Suddenly I feel like I need to memorize every detail of his face.

"Is something wrong?" _Did I do something?_ I choke on those words, but he makes no reaction to them so maybe I didn't actually say them. I wonder if he would have stayed if I had. He lets go of my hand and I let him.

"I'm sorry, Marco." And just like that, he's gone.

My name is Marco Bodt, and that was the day I let him walk out of my life.

=

In hindsight, a year and a half really isn't that long.

I mean, it's not like I've counted the days since he left (I have), or the bed hasn't felt the same since then (it hasn't), or that the apartment feels emptier. My breakfast is less fulfilling. The coffee's bland (funny, really, I don't remember drinking coffee until I met him. I think he made it best). I don't shower longer than normal, I don't sleep in a little later than I should. I definitely haven't been lying to myself for the past five hundred and sixty four days since he left my apartment for the last time ( I have been, every bit of it).

I sit up from my bed with a groan, giving up on the vain attempt to find a comfortable corner to sleep in on. The clock on my nightstand reads 9:45 in green block numbers, indicating that I slept through my alarm. A usual occurrence, really, and I still have a couple of hours before work so I take my time going about my morning routine. I don't start to feel better until my brain neatly files away my dream in the back of my mind.

I feed my fish. I turn on the radio for the background noise, not really listening to it as I mosey about my kitchen. I rub a knuckle into my eye as I stare blankly into my fridge, noting the distinct lack of food it has to offer. I need to do some grocery shopping, so I guess it's McDonald's drive-thru again this morning.

The coffee machine beeps at me, letting me know that its contents are done, or at least some semblance of it though I already know I'll let it go cold in the pot, if I decide to keep it at all. Sure enough, it smells terrible, so I pour it down the sink. I stopped tasting it after six months, but I don't know why I still try to duplicate what I had only enjoyed for a little over a month.

I don't sigh at the offending pot like I used to, I just swish some water in it and rinse it out a few times before setting it on the counter. I'll just get my coffee when I go in to work, anyway.

The last thing I do before I lock the door to my apartment is check my phone. There are three messages from Connie, which isn't surprising, and I'm sure I'll get more within the next fifteen minutes so I don't even try to read them yet. One from Eren asking me if I got a text from Connie, and another from Reiner telling me not to bother getting breakfast; he picked up my usual on the way to the diner with breakfast for him and Bert. I have to smile at the last one, and tap out a quick 'thank you', assuring him (and by association, Bert) that I'll see them soon. 

The stairs creek as I travel down them, to the point that I worry I might wake the tenant who lives below me. He's a cranky middle-aged guy that'll occasionally come up to yell at me for one thing or another. He's been a little more laid back this past year, I wonder if he's doing alright.

I see him outside, smoking a cigaret against the face of the complex and I wave at him in greeting. "Hey, Levi,"

He ashes his cigaret on the ground next to him and lifts his eyes to meet mine. It's almost like he's refusing to crane his neck and acknowledge that he may just be the shortest man I know. "Off to work, Bodt." He doesn't grace me with the question that's due to that phrase, we both know I haven't really left the building unless it's for work. I nod soundlessly, shaking the keys in my pocket. 

Levi cracks a smile (and by smile, I mean a cruel, amused little twist of his mouth. I don't think I've ever seen him give a real smile in the three years knowing him) and drops the butt of his cigaret on the sidewalk, grinding it out with the heel of his boot. "Say 'hi' to Eren for me."

"Sure, Levi," he's gone before I can finish the three syllables that sentence has, and I'm not really all that sure he actually cared to hear my answer.

Eren's been over to my apartment an impressive three times since I moved in, and each time he managed to drag the short, grumpy man out of the apartment below mine. Levi has plenty of complaints against anything to do with my friends (or at least the ones that visit), but Eren, I think he likes. In a strange, I-might-not-fucking-kill-you way. Well, at least each time I've brought Eren a message from Levi he's looked more excited than scared.

I start my car and lean back in the seat as the air kicks in, curling my lip at the song that plays over the radio.

By the time I reach the Hole in The Wall, I've gone through half a dozen stations, all playing _Break Your Plans_ like it's chasing me through the frequencies. I'm forced to give up before I think _too_ much about that night when he left and never returned.

Reiner greets me by tossing me a McDonalds bag and (thankfully not throwing it) a cup of coffee. "Bert made it," he says cheerily, more than a hint of pride in his voice that makes my smile genuine.

Reiner has a way of seeing into you, though, so he claps my back gently and leads me to the counter where a set my freshly  
acquired bag of food. "Rough night?" I hum at him, taking a sip of my coffee.

"I'm fine," he doesn't look convinced, but I think I laid the pseudo joy in my tone thick enough for him to leave me alone for the time being. It doesn't stop him from giving me _the look_ , though. 

Reiner started in at the Diner shortly after I broke up with Bert about six months ago (but that's a different story, and an awkward one) and quickly took on the position of team mom, or at least stole it right out from Bertholdt's nose. Not a place you'd expect him to be in just glancing at him, I know, but he's a good one, and he knows when you're lying.

Fortunately for me he also knows when to back off, so I'm left to enjoy my breakfast in relative peace before people start showing up. I won't get away with not talking forever, especially not with both Bert _and_ Reiner on my case.

But the truth is, I don't know what they want me to say. There isn't anything to talk about, it happened, it's done, and we've all pretty much moved on.

I let the coffee hover underneath my nose, breathing the smell in (I really do like Bert's coffee. It's better than mine, in any case) as I start digging through the bag for my sandwich and hash brown.

"Hey, is Annie here yet?" I look up from my bag at the sound of Bertholdt's voice coming from the back room, where I'm assuming he got the toolbox he's holding from. "She said she'd help me get that ceiling fan fixed today," and that's about the point where he seems to notice me standing there, because he looks at me and smiles and I can feel the tag team looming around the corner. I take another tentative sip of my coffee.

"I don't understand why Erwin doesn't just get a ladder," Reiner grumbles before Bert can properly say anything else. He seems to regard him for a few seconds before snapping his fingers, "ah, never mind. I bet he figured since we have a human giraffe on staff, we wouldn't need one,"

"This," I say, setting my mug down to grab my hash brown from the bag, "coming from the bear trapped in a man's body. Do I work at a zoo, or a restaurant, I wonder?" 

"If this is a zoo, then what does that make you, Bodt?"

"… the Zookeeper?" I supply, but Reiner shakes his head, smiling.

"A leopard, maybe,"

I point my hash brown at him and Reiner just laughs. "You leave my freckles out of this," Bert joins in on the laugher, coming up to drape an arm over my shoulders, something that he has to lean down significantly to do. Giraffe, indeed.

"You can't be the zookeeper, see, that's Erwin's job." He ruffles through my hair affectionately. "So you're stuck being an animal with us,"

"You're really okay with being called a giraffe?" I ask, to which Bert shrugs.

"I'll get him back, don't you worry, little mouse." I swat at him and he dances away, laughing. 

The next fifteen minutes are filled with me crunching on my breakfast, and Bert and Reiner tossing out ideas about my animal counterpart.

"A squirrel?"

"Do they even keep squirrels in zoos?"

"Zebra."

"I have spots, not stripes, Reiner," I say idly, mid sip of my coffee. "Besides. I look nothing like a zebra."

"Hmm. How about a butterfly?"

Reiner and I both look at Bert skeptically. "A butterfly?" I almost dread the answer.

He grins, which does nothing to ease my dread. "Yeah, you know, a BODTerfly."

I hide my face with a groan.

"Dude, you've been hanging around Connie way too much." Reiner's laughing. I hate my friends.

"Speak of the devil,"

I look up just in time to see Connie walk through the door, Annie in tow. "I brought our crew member with me!" Connie says, or rather yells, across the space between the door and the front counter. I can see Annie's mood visibly darken from here. 

"Sorry I'm late," she tells Reiner once she's close enough that she doesn't have to raise her voice. "Car wouldn't start." She doesn't have to elaborate, not when she's been neighbors with Connie's mother for years, and Connie hasn't made it out of her basement yet.

"Did you have to wake monkey boy up," Connie turns his nose up at this, but there's a good natured twinkle in his eye, so Reiner flicks at the shorter man's ear before continuing. "Or did he actually get up like a normal human today?"

"Eren was over."

"Oh," is Bert's conspiratorial reply, to which Connie just shrugs.

"Whatever, guys, he just wanted to try out the Xbox One because I just got one and it's fucking awesome. We didn't even sleep in the same bed."

"More like you didn't even make it to the bed." Reiner deadpans, but he's clearly failing to hide his smirk.

Connie jabs a finger in my direction, indicating that he's abruptly about to change the subject. "Besides, you didn't answer my texts this morning. What's with that?"

There's nothing in his tone that's exactly accusatory, but I still scratch the back of my neck as all eyes gravitate towards me. Okay, so maybe I've never not answered my friends texts in my life. "Uh… I was sleeping?" I try apologetically, but no one looks particularly sold.

"Marco, you look like shit." Annie's as blunt as ever, it's like she was never designed to beat around the bush. She just aims for the middle.

I try not to deflate too bad as Reiner and Bert both fix me with their customary 'we're worried for you' looks and instead try to distract myself with my half eaten sandwich. I end up picking at the English muffin in vain of actually finishing it.

"It's that guy isn't it?"

"It's always that guy."

Connie and Reiner don't know about him. Well, actually, the only one who knows so much as his name besides myself is Bert, and since I won't say anything, neither will he. It doesn't stop him from rubbing at my shoulders, though.

"It's been a year," and a half, I silently add, "I don't think he's coming back."

And of course he's right.

"Listen, I've got the perfect thing to distract you," Connie cuts in before Bert and Reiner can get too deep. "And since I know you're not doing anything for the fourth you've got no choice but to come."

"Oh, right, the party."

Connie looks at Bert like he's personally offended. "What do you mean 'oh right' I sent you guys like five texts." He points at me again, looking like he'd drag me to this party even if I'd said no. "And if you'd just answer me this morning I wouldn't have to tell you about it now. You're coming, man, I've been planning for this party all year."

"All year, really?" Maybe I'm a little bit more than skeptical.

"Okay, so like the beginning of June. Don't change the subject. You're coming even if I have to drag you out of your apartment." He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "I'll sick Levi on you if you don't."

"Okay, fine," I hold up my hands in surrender. "I'll come, I'll come." I'm smiling, I can't help it. But the way Connie's face lights up, well, I can't be blamed.

"You so won't regret it, it's gonna be great!" He beams.

"Right. We're coming," Annie stops Connie before he can effectively bounce off the walls, "but right now we've got jobs to do. Marco, man the kitchen while Bert and I fix the ceiling fan. Connie, you better clock in before Erwin catches us all standing around." I nod, remembering that I still have to punch in myself, and do that with my coffee in hand. 

The rest of the day is pretty much non eventful. Bert and Annie manage to fix the ceiling fan without someone falling to their death, we make food, Reiner and Connie talk to costumers and Erwin advises us that we should cut down our talk on company time and we're all reminded that Erwin sees all.

When I go on break Bertholdt gives me a look and points at the phone he knows is in my pocket. He mouths what can only be read as 'call him' and goes back to work before I can protest.

I don't call him. I can't. I sit in the break room with my phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, scrolling down my contacts list. I tap his name once, I get close to hitting the call button before my nerves get the best of me and I hit the home screen on my phone.

It's like a ritual. And it always turns out the same, I sit there staring at his contact for fifteen minutes every day and Bert knows I didn't call him. But how do you just call a guy you haven't seen in a year? How do I know he'll answer? What if he changed his number or got a new phone? What if he doesn't want to talk to me?

The last one, I don't want to think about, and I take a swig of my water, tapping on my contacts list for the fourth time. I come up to his name, the contact I should have deleted six months ago but never could. I stare at my thumb hovering over the call button and let out a sigh. 

"Dude, if you can't call him, text him." I nearly jump out of my skin, letting out a startled yelp.

I quickly hide my phone away and will the blush in my face to go away, not even willing to acknowledge the fact that literally everyone probably knows about this weird ritual of mine. Connie grabs a Monster from the fridge and leans against it, watching me with the most critical eye he can manage. It's the most serious I've seen him in, well, I don't think I've ever seen him this serious.

"Look, Marco, it's kinda hard to see you moping like that, so seriously, text him, and if he doesn't text back… move on, man." Connie opens his Monster. He's not looking at me, or in my general vicinity. In fact he's taken to trying to stare a hole through the ground.

"Things go that bad with Sasha?"

"This isn't about me, it's about getting you out of your stink." He pauses. "I'm thinking about asking Eren out." He's so quiet I have to lean in to hear him. "But I don't know if he… he's still pretty set on Levi."

I give him a reassuring smile. "You never know until you try,"

Connie flashes me a sort of wan smile, taking a drink from his can. "You gonna take that advice too, Bodt?"

I can only get out half a chuckle as a back at my phone. I have to swallow back my apprehension as I tap the button that'll take me to the new text screen. 

**To: Jean**

My fingers are shaking, so I have to pause in my message, my mind going blank because there are so many things I could say.

_Hey Jean, how are you?_

No.

_Haven't seen you in a while, Jean._

No.

_It hasn't been the same with you gone._

_No._

_I haven't been the same since you left._

"Jesus god, Marco just text him." Connie interjects my thoughts, hiding an amused smirk behind his canned heart-attack.

I bite my lip at my screen,

**To: Jean  
I really miss you, Jean.**

and hit send before I can change my mind.

=

I get up the next morning and start my routine all over again. 

I dump out my five hundred and sixty fifth bad pot of coffee. I watch my fish go from trying to kill each other to frantically trying to eat as many fish flakes as possible. I lock my apartment and try to creep as quietly down the stairs as I can. I while to bird poop off the front of my car and rest my head on the head rest once I'm safely in my car.

Jean hasn't texted me back. I shouldn't be surprised, and I'm not, but the world seems remarkably greyer for having tried and lost. 

Bert hugs me when I walk through the door of the Hole in The Wall and I don't have the heart to deny my sadness because I know he knows and there isn't any point in trying to say I don't feel like crying.

 

We don't get many people and it's just Bert and in the kitchen so it's quiet for most of the day. I can hear Connie blathering on to the few regulars that show up no matter how crappy the day is (and I don't notice it's raining until I step outside get some fresh air), to the point where they've been given discounts just for showing up nearly every day. My day nearly passes me by. 

"Hey, can I help you?" I hear Reiner's good natured voice address someone that must have just come in. There's that moment of silence that passes too long to be really customary for a person in food service, where usually the costumer would said something but didn't, and it catches my attention. "… You looking for someone?"

"Uh…" I know that voice, it hits me like a ton of bricks, so hard it sinks into my gut and roots my feet to the ground. "Just someone that I knew."

I feel like I'm going to be sick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow holy I have no excuse for this taking so long I am trash.
> 
> Shout out to [all-hail-hanji](http://all-hail-hanji.tumblr.com) for listening to me bitch about this chapter not getting done and also for helping me food
> 
> That being said it's almost 2 in the morning and I may or may not have squinted at this for two hours because wow I forgot how to write

I never figured myself as a one-night-stand kind of guy. I never thought that I'd be the type of person to have some honest to god, no strings attached sex. But this is Jean I'm kissing and I'm pretty sure I'd established a long time ago that I'd do anything for Jean fucking Kirschtein. Even if that meant a good casual romp.

Okay, maybe it didn't sit well with me at first, but then Jean was kissing me and we were sort of falling through my apartment, neither one of us concerned with breaking our contact. His hands were under my shirt and mine were shamelessly groping his ass and then I was falling, and Jean was on top of me.

Point being, I left my better judgement at the door when Jean Kirschtein started kissing me.

"Condom?" Jean pulls his fingers out and I regret it _immediately_. I whine, like a child whose lost privilege to their favorite toy which is ridiculous but I can't be blamed because Jean is _amazing_ with his fingers. I pull him down for a kiss and he lets me, briefly. " _Marco, condom._ "

Fucking sexy.

"Um," I have to squeeze my eyes shut. Come on, brain, work. "Top drawer, left side."

He rewards ( _rewards!_ ) me with a kiss, and then he's digging into my nightstand and he's ripping open a condom and I swear to God if he isn't the hottest thing I've seen in my entire life.

I hook my knees around his waist. I don't want to be the type of guy that says we belong together, but when he pushes in, it feels like he's sliding home.

=

I splash water on my face with a gasp and watch the color return to my cheeks through the bathroom mirror.

This. He's back, he's _here_ , at the Diner, right outside, talking to Reiner. This isn't happening. I'm just imagining things.

I look like I've just seen a ghost, and for the most part, I have. 

I close my eyes and will the beating of my heart to slow, the knot in my gut and my chest to untwist themselves so I can breathe properly. I wish I could say I'm happy, truly, one hundred percent overjoyed that he's here. Because I haven't seen him in a year (and a half), because he's here and probably looking for _me_ , but the ache in my heart won't go away and for the second time today I just want to curl up in this stupid clinical bathroom and cry.

I hear a knock on the door and I quickly move to wipe at my eyes and try to school my voice into something less traitorous, but I don't get the chance before someone opens the door. 

"… hey, Marco," Jean and I are standing face to face.

We're standing face to face in a tiny work bathroom and my heart is racing and I can't help but feel like I'm scanning him, making sure it's the Jean I remember. Making sure that it's _Jean_.

His hair is wet from the rain, the green fabric of his hoodie made darker in its dampness. The _Trost Titans_ patch on the shoulder is frayed and starting to peel off, a testament to its age. 

He's smaller than I remember, and he's not quite meeting my eyes, but he's _here_.

"Jean…"

"Kinda been a while, hasn't it?" He offers me a sheepish smile, and I realize that maybe our happy reunion shouldn't be in a tiny work bathroom. 

"Come outside with me," I find my voice, but it's so quiet and I feel like if I raise it any further he'll hear the tremor in it and he'll know how close I am to staining the front of his hoodie.

That damn hoodie that he's had since senior year that his mom made him buy so he could at least pretend to show interest in the local team. It hangs a little looser on him than it ever did before.

He wraps it a little tighter around himself, as if that would help trap warmth within the damp fabric. "'S raining,"

My fingers itch to pull at my hair, to scratch the back of my neck, to do anything to get rid of all of this nervous energy. "There's an umbrella. In the break room," I hear myself say.

We're quiet, the air around us nearly impenetrable and each second of silence, of us just staring at each other with too much and not enough to say is another needle stabbing its way into my heart. I can see the evident wedge between us become clearer and clearer with each passing moment. 

Jean's looking down, refusing to meet my eyes, but I can still see the way he bites his lip, something I know he only does when he's considering, torn. The last time I saw him do that he was three minutes from walking away, a year and a half ago. It looms in the back of my mind, and I'm left dreading if history would repeat itself.

"Okay," he breathes, so softly I barely catch it and I'm not even sure if he's addressing me or himself. Jean looks up at me and for the first time I notice the bags under his eyes, how tired he looks. He gives me a hesitant smile. "Lead the way,"

I don't think I've mentioned just how _tiny_ this bathroom is. It's made for approximately one and a half people, and that's if we're lucky. I have absolutely no issue with getting that close to Jean, in fact the idea of our chests touching… well. 

It dawns on him. "Um," Jean backs out of the bathroom, leaving me to follow. "Wh-where's the umbrella?"

I can't help myself, I smile. He's so surreal, so him in the smallest ways, like he hasn't changed at all. 

I can feel him pushing me away, and the thought makes my smile more forced than I want it to be. 

"By the door, in the bucket," I instruct, washing my hands by reflex before stepping out of the bathroom myself. When I do Jean's got the umbrella in hand, and he's waiting by the door that opens up into a hidden alcove at the back of the building.

The previous owners of the building used it as a garden, or so Erwin says, but now it's just a place for us to get some fresh air or to smoke. Connie calls it the Hole of the Hole In The Wall, but I'm pretty sure everyone had unanimously agreed that that's stupid, or at least, I've never heard anyone else call it that.

"Stopped taking a mower back here?" Jean says upon seeing the now knee-high grass. His lip curls slightly as he searches for something amidst his pockets. I watch as he pulls out a pack of cigarets and a lighter with a small noise of triumph.

"Erwin says we're supposed to," but no one besides me seems to even own a lawn mower and, well, to give you the abridged version I need a new one. "But he doesn't come back here and honestly I don't think he cares."

"You pushed your lawn mower into the lake again, didn't you?" He lights a cigaret, smirking. I'm surprised he remembers that… and maybe a little offended that he thinks I'd do it again.

"Um. I left it outside and the city mistook it for scrap metal."

"They shoulda picked it up months ago." Jean leans against a dryer spot of the wall next to us, where there's a small overhang that shields him from the onslaught of the rain, and, after a moment, hands me the umbrella, which I take gratefully.

We're silent again. I'm pointedly ignoring the way Jean still lets the smoke linger in his lungs, how he closes his eyes as if he savors the burn like he would a bowl of soup on a cold day. I especially try to ignore how _good_ he looks doing it.

After a while he breathes out, sending a cloud of gray with it. "I, uh…" he pauses, staring straight ahead of him and I know that makes it easier for him. It makes it easier for me, too, I realize. My heart's stilled in my chest like it's hanging on his every word and I'm left feeling like a lovesick fool. "I got your text."

Okay, _now_ my heart's stopped beating. Along with my breathing, and I'm pretty sure my entire nervous system is trying to shut down on me. It's just Jean and his words rattling on in my head.

"I would've said something but I was, um, kinda driving. All night. Back here."

Well if that doesn't make me feel like the biggest ass in existence. I let out my breath and immediately begin to come up with some sort of apology, but Jean cuts me off before I can even get the first word out. "It's okay though, you didn't know."

"Why'd you come back?" I ask tentatively. I do my best to keep the hope out of my voice. I don't know where I stand, what he wants (from me, preferably, but I know I would give him anything in the world should he even so much as hint at it). 

"My mom. She," he pauses, scowling at the grass like it's personally insulted him. "Um. She asked me to come stay with her for a while."

"Oh," I manage to hide my disappointment. "Is she well?"

"Yeah, she's just lonely." Jean drops his cigaret on the wet ground in front of him with a little yawn. "I'm gonna, um, go get unpacked and stuff." He says quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It was nice seeing you, Marco."

There's something about the way my name sounds coming from his lips that puts a big, dumb smile on my face, something about him being back in Trost that makes me giddy. Maybe it's because the potential of seeing him every day again has skyrocketed, or because I can hear his voice outside of my dreams again. I don't have to try the remember what he looked in that dumb hoodie, or that cruel little smirk he gives when he makes a joke on your expense, or the sound of his laughter. They're all things that I'll hear and see again and the thought makes my chest tight in the best way possible. 

"You too, Jean." Maybe I'm a little hopeful that hearing his name come from my mouth does the same thing to him, too. 

I walk him out of the Diner, acutely aware of the three pairs of eyes that follow our every move. I bite back my internal groan, because I know what's coming next and I really, _really_ don't want it to happen.

They're all curious, all dying to know about this weird scrawny kid that followed me into the employee bathroom. They're like cats, really, the way they stare at me. Weird, nosy cats that make food and run a diner. Connie waits exactly two seconds after Jean's out of the building before he pounces.

"Is that the guy? That's the guy, isn't it?"

"He's cute," Reiner supplies from where he's leaning on the counter.

Maybe I'm smiling, I don't know, but they're smiling. I feel a bit like I'm floating. But I feel _happy_ , and that's something I hadn't realized I'd been living without. "Yeah, that's the guy." If my voice is dreamy all it does is make the faces around me light up. 

"So, you gonna fuck him?" Connie blurts, and I blanch so quickly I actually feel a little dizzy for a moment.

" _N-no!_ I mean, yes! I-I don't know!" I sputter, trying desperately to hide the furious blush that warms my entire face. I'd be lying, of course, if I said that I wouldn't like to just take Jean home and drill (or be drilled, I don't really care, if I'm being honest) him into my mattress, or my couch, or any surface, provided I don't eat or make food there, really. But it's still so… he _just_ got back, for Pete's sake! I'm still not sure he doesn't want to totally avoid me and, well to be honest I'm still on a Jean-just-talked-to-me-in-real-life sort of high and I'm completely happy with not thinking of doing any fucking and I'm just glad that he's _back in town_ and not _God knows where_ and oh God I'm rambling.

I'm rambling and I'm hiding my face and Reiner and Connie are having a good laugh at my expense and did I ever mention how much I _hate_ the people I work with? Because I do, I so do.

Eventually Bertholdt, bless his pure, kind-hearted soul, pops his head back into the kitchen window and gives them his best scolding look, which isn't saying much. "Alright, you two, give Marco a break," he looks at me and I really, _really_ hope I just imagined that glint in his eye. He slides what looks suspiciously like a crumpled bill to Reiner, who takes it, albeit a little confused. My face is draining as we speak. "Five bucks says they fuck in two weeks."

I take it back. Bertholdt Fubar, despite contrary belief, is not an angel walking on stilts.

=

I'm home for exactly five minutes before my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

"Dude, Connie, I _just_ got home-"

"Listen, Marco, suuuuper sorry but I'm in a bit of a pinch and I need to kidnap you for your culinary divinity."

Okay. That's not Connie. I have to look back at my screen, trying to ignore the fact that Eren just set a new bar of praise to my apparent cooking abilities. "Okay," I say, bringing the phone back up to my ear. "What for?"

The other end of the phone is silent, so much so that I check it to make sure I hadn't lost the call. I hear Connie talking in the background, muffled and quiet and something in the atmosphere changes. Eren says something back just as quietly, and then Connie's in my ear. "Mikasa's in town," oh. "We really need your help, man."

Mikasa is Eren's sister. Well, she was adopted when they were eight and they've been nearly inseparable ever since. Until two years ago.

Something happened between them and as far as I know there's a lot of bad blood there. Eren doesn't talk about it, and neither does Connie, so I don't ask. But if she's back in town, and coming over to Eren's…

"When?" I ask, already slipping into my shoes. I wrestle back into my jacket to fend off the rain.

Connie shoots the question back at Eren, but I can't make out his answer and it's a good thing I don't have to, because it's repeated for me. "She's just staying for dinner, so if you can get here at six… thanks a bunch, man. This means a lot to Eren."

I smile into my phone. "Don't worry about it."

And so thirty minutes later I'm standing outside of Eren's apartment with a bag of groceries and a six pack of beer. Connie looks at it like it could be poisoned, but opens the door for me anyway. "Dude, you know I'd love to get drunk any day of the week," he says cautiously. I can't help but raise my eyebrow at him. Eren isn't anywhere to be found. "Tonight's a sober night, for sure."

"It's for the batter," somehow I manage to sound cryptic, but I give Connie a reassuring smile, anyway. "Unless, you know, you think you need a can to, um…" Connie's really tense. I noticed it at the door, but now, standing in Eren's kitchen with a case of booze that he not only didn't go straight for, but doesn't want, I can tell that something is a little more than just _off_. I gesture vaguely at Connie's state and he grimaces.

"Trust me, it's better this way."

"Is Marco here yet?" I hear Eren shout from some indiscernible location. It sounds suspiciously like the bathroom, but from the kitchen he may as well be across the house and I would hardly know the difference.

"He brought food," Connie hollers back as I go to set my bag of said food on the counter and rummage through it, looking at my options for tonight. 

I hear a series of loud crashing and stomping that can only signal someone's scrambled approach from behind me, and then Eren's standing in his kitchen, breathing like he's just run a marathon. "Oh thank God, I was worried you might want to look through my barren cupboards." I think of the state of my own cupboards at home and grimace. I really need to do some shopping for myself.

"I knew we could count on Chef Bodt to save the day," Connie grins triumphantly, looking over my supplies. "You're really gonna make all this food?"

I shake my head, pulling the last item out of the bag and laying it out in groups, setting the beer on the far side of the counter. "It depends on what Mikasa likes," I look at Eren expectantly and watch as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. I get the feeling that his brave face is dangerously close to crumbling, and I feel my chest twist with sympathy.

"I don't think beer anything is a good idea, right now."

I fix Eren with the best reassuring smile I can manage, and I have it on good authority that I can but pretty damn soothing, so I'm fairly confident that it'll do the trick in putting him at ease. "That's why we have options."

"Some of this stuff is really expensive," Connie squints at the label of one of the packaged meats. "This'll take an hour to cook, at least. We don't have an hour."

"I think that's one of the roasts that are served like half raw."

"Close, actually," Somehow I feel like I'm back in home ec. The only difference is that I'm the teacher droning on to a bunch of clueless teenagers. "It's beef, so technically you could serve it rare."

"Mikasa is very particular about her meat being very dead."

I slip the roast in Eren's freezer. Another time, then.

"Pancakes?" Eren looks from the box of pancake mix to me like I'm losing my mind and all I can really do is shrug at him.

"It was for the batter?"

"Dude, don't sound like you're asking questions, okay. You're supposed to be the brains here." 

"You asked me to make food."

"I asked you to save me," Eren groans, his head meeting the countertop. "I gave you godly praise, Marco! I never give people godly praise!"

"'S true," Connie nods in agreement, "I haven't even received godly praise and I've known him for years."

Eren pauses mid-pitiful-groan. "I thought I gave you godly praise?"

Connie, to his due credit, is completely puzzled. "When?"

"That time when-"

"Alright, okay," I _really_ don't want to hear the end of that conversation. "Paninis, then."

"Pa-whaties?" Eren lifts his head at me, looking thoroughly confused. I'm not offended, I swear, but paninis are God's versatile gift to humanity, and so is Eren's little-used kitchen equipment. 

I don't think Eren even knows what he has, but his kitchen could seriously save his night, I just have to do a little more shopping… "Okay," I clap my hands together, picking through the supplies I already have, suddenly grateful I picked up most of the things I needed on a hunch. "Connie, I need you to scoop the stocks out of these mushrooms. Eren, start washing this arugula. I can trust you guys to that while I go back to Erwin's shop, right?" I push the plastic-covered blue package into a bemused Connie's chest.

"What's at Erwin's shop that you don't have already? It looks like you bought the entire store."

I'm already half way out of the kitchen before a toss a hurried reply over my shoulder. "Cheesecake."

"I asked for dinner, Marco, not a fancy five course meal!" Eren says after me, just as Connie's slightly panicked voice shouts "You don't have time for cheesecake!" Eren is hopeless if he thinks sandwiches and cheesecake is a 'fancy five course meal', and Connie, well. Connie clearly doesn't know how I operate when I'm asked to cook on short notice. 

=  
As it turns out, Connie isn't as clueless as I thought. He does, however, need to stay out of my cheesecake.

"Aww, c'mon Marco, just a taste?"

"You can taste them when they're done, now go help Eren before he manages to start the kitchen on fire." 

I spare a glance at Eren where he's dutifully setting up his little island counter and thank whatever higher power that gave Connie the sense to keep him away from the stove. I stab Connie's hand with a fork.

"Ow! Dammit, Marco!"

"Don't 'dammit' me, Connie. Stay out of my cheesecake."

I hear a knock on the door. Eren goes still at the counter.


End file.
